Larry Stylinson One Shots

Somewhere Safe

TW: abuse (nothing in detail)

As the last rays of sunlight danced across the room, casting an ethereal glow over the dusty, threadbare carpet, Louis Tomlinson lay curled up on the cold, hardwood floor, his body aching in ways it never had before. His face was swollen, his lips bruised and split, and each breath he took sent shooting pains through his ribs, still tender from where they'd been brutally bruised just hours earlier. Tears welled in his eyes, threatening to spill over, but he refused to let them fall.

He'd been with this bastard for over a year now, and each day had been worse than the last. He'd thought things couldn't get any worse, that maybe, just maybe, he'd find some way to make it through. But then came tonight, the night he'd had enough. The night he'd decided that he was worth more than the pain, the humiliation, the fear. And so, with nothing but the clothes on his back, he'd fled.

He didn't know where he was going, just that he had to get away. He'd stumbled through the darkened streets, his vision blurred by tears and pain, until he found himself at the doorstep of the one person he knew he could rely on. He raised his trembling hand and rapped sharply on the door, praying that Harry would be home.

Moments later, the door swung open, revealing the familiar face of Harry Styles. His eyes widened in alarm as they took in Louis' battered appearance.

"What happened? Who did this to you?" he demanded, stepping forward and gently cradling Louis' face in his hands.

Louis could feel the warmth radiating from Harry's touch, and it was almost enough to make him break down completely.

"It doesn't matter," he managed to choke out between ragged breaths. "I just need somewhere to stay, somewhere safe."

"You're safe here, you're safe with me, Lou," Harry assured, guiding Louis inside and closing the door.

He led him to the couch, helping him sit down gently. The movement sent fresh waves of pain through his body, but he ignored it, focusing instead on Harry's concerned face. The other man's eyes darted around the room, taking in the state of the apartment, and then settled back on Louis.

"Do you want something to drink? Some food?" he asked, his voice gentle. Louis nodded, his throat too raw to speak. Harry disappeared into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a glass of water and a bowl of soup. He set them down on the coffee table in front of Louis and then knelt beside him, gently wiping the tears from his face.

"I'm so sorry this happened to you, Lou," Harry whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You don't deserve any of it." Louis closed his eyes, letting the warmth of Harry's touch and the familiar sound of his voice wash over him. He could feel the weight of everything he'd been through starting to lift, if only for a moment.

As Harry continued to comfort him, he began to feel more and more exhausted. His eyelids grew heavy, and soon he was drifting off, the pain and fear finally fading into the background. He didn't realize it at the time, but he'd fallen asleep in Harry's arms, his head resting on the other man's chest. Harry reached for a blanket and wrapped out around Louis, his arms never leaving the older.

It was late when Louis finally woke up, the warm sunlight streaming through the window. He blinked a few times, trying to remember where he was, before the memories of the night before rushed back in. He sat up slowly, wincing as his body protested the movement, and glanced around the room. Harry was nowhere to be seen, but a note was propped up on the coffee table.

He reached for it, his fingers trembling, and unfolded the paper. Harry's familiar scrawl filled the page:

Dear Louis,